First Encounters
by thattookaturnforthenerdy
Summary: Sherlock is the DADA Professor, and John Watson is the new flying instructor. A little crossover AU about their first meeting on the first day of a new school year. Fluff, better than the summary.


Sherlock sat down in the comfortable padded seat of the Hogwarts Express. It was his third year teaching Defense against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and he still hadn't changed his method of transportation. Most of the other teachers simply apparated to Hogsmeade and then walked to the school. Sherlock found a simple quiet charm to taking the train to school with the students, even if he did despise them. Besides, most all of the teachers hated Sherlock. And he didn't like any of them, except for Professor Lestrade, the Transfiguration teacher, and Head of Gryffindor House.

Sherlock himself was the newly appointed head of Ravenclaw House. He had not been surprised when Mcgonogall had asked him to take the position. His mortal enemy was Jim Moriarty, professor of Potions, and new head of Slytherin. He had taken over recently from Professor Ludwig who had retired.

Jim and Sherlock had attended Hogwarts together. Moriarty had been a fourth year when Sherlock had first been sorted into Ravenclaw. The older boy had been a torment to Sherlock for his first few years. Jim had always been forcing him to hang out, never letting Sherlock spend his free time with anyone else. After Jim had graduated, Sherlock flourished and quickly rose to the top of his graduating class.

After graduation, he had traveled the world for a few years before settling back in Europe and applying for a position at his prestigious school. Mcgonogall has called soon after with the DADA position, Sherlock's best subject in school. In his third year teaching he was perfectly comfortable with the routine and pleased with the position. Jim had been there for two years before him of course, but Sherlock avoided him mostly. Moriarty seemed unbothered by it however because he was currently seeing the Charms professor, Sebastian Moran. Sherlock was sure they were engaged to be married, but he was unsure why this was still private news.

Giving up the thought, he pulled his now cool forehead from the train window and sat back. He still had yet to look over the file he'd been sent on Hogwarts newest teacher. Sherlock did so, opening his leather bag with a flick of his wand and spreading the pages over his lap. The file was over a man named John Watson. This…this was him. His Gryffindor Knight. There had been a boy at Hogwarts, the first two years of Sherlock's tenure, and Jim's bullying. Whenever this stranger had seen Jim picking on the little Ravenclaw boy he had intervened and told Moriarty to get lost. The boy had never personally said a word to Sherlock, but he always had a kind smile to offer after Jim had left. Sherlock had remembered the warm face and the shining Prefect, then later, Head Boy Badge.

His Gryffindor savior had been the reason Sherlock had been on his best behavior to become a Prefect, and then Head Boy himself. And now he was coming back to the school as well. Sherlock wondered if…if John Watson remembered him. He sat back, biting his lip in thought. He sincerely doubted it. Shaking his head of the nonsense, he turned back to the file. It said that John Watson had graduated Hogwarts eighth in his class; he had become an Auror working for the Ministry of Magic.

Thinking of the Ministry brought up thoughts of his brother, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He shook his head and kept reading. John had worked as an Auror for several years before being wounded in action by a fellow wizard. After rehabilitation and counseling he joined the English National quidditch team as seeker. He had been there for two seasons before getting injured again and leaving quidditch behind. He was taking over the position of Flying Instructor. Sherlock turned the page to see a short summary about their other new hire this year – Rory Williams.

The rumor was that this man had trouble keeping a job because he traveled constantly with his wife, whose health was now failing. He thought that the Scottish air and a stable home would do her good, or at least provide her a gentle death bed. He was going to be the new librarian at Hogwarts. Sherlock remembered him from their school days. He always hung out with the same two people in school – Amelia Pond, his now-wife, and some girl name Melody that Sherlock didn't remember very well.

Sherlock bit back a smile at the memory of the young trio causing trouble together, running everywhere together and spending all their time with one another, despite being sorted differently. Rory had been a Hufflepuff, Amelia a Gryffindor, and Melody a Slytherin. He remembered the latter constantly getting in trouble for trying to sneak her friends into the Slytherin common room. Sherlock had often looked on in jealousy, wishing desperately to join them in playing or studying, but Moriarty was always there to monopolize his time.

After a while, he had grown used to the presence of the older boy – he got the distinct impression that Jim had no friends either. However, after nearly four years of Moriarty's constant attention, Sherlock had grown tired of him. Jim had always wanted to talk and go out, and he insisted on dragging Sherlock all over Hogsmeade as soon as Holmes had come of age.

Eventually, in dueling club, during Jim's final year, Sherlock had had enough. He declared with a tone of finality that he was done being Moriarty's friend, and they were now in fact, enemies. He had then challenged him to a duel. Professor Yeats kept a close eye on them. Moriarty had beaten him handily. Embarrassed, Sherlock returned to his bunk in Ravenclaw tower and vowed to learn everything he possibly could, and to become the best duelist of all time so that nothing similar could happen to him again.

When he graduated, becoming Hogwart's best student, Hermione Granger came to the school to personally congratulate him. He had beaten all of her test scores by a hair's breadth to become the top student. Sherlock had gotten her autograph and a picture with her. He remembered wearing his best school robes for the occasion, meeting his hero. Sherlock counted it as one of the best days of his life.

The train lurched to a stop just as Sherlock finished reading and put the file away. He would soon get to meet John Watson for the first time in years, and this time as equals. Sherlock puffed up and straightened his robes as he stepped off the train and into the starry night. He could hear the grounds keeper Hagrid calling for the first years to follow him to the boats. Holmes took a step back and turned, Disapparating to outside of the Hogwarts gates. It was easier to Apparate to the actual gates themselves of course, but Sherlock preferred the solace of the train ride. The students didn't bother him, not even the first years, and the teachers never questioned his eccentric ways.

And it was true that even though most of the staff at Hogwarts was younger – Sherlock knew most of them from his school days – was still considered an outsider. The nurse, Molly Hooper, was a Hufflepuff from his year. Jim had attended the same time as he, and so had this Watson. Sebastian Moran and Rory Williams were both a year younger than he. McGonogall had been Headmistress since 1998, after the Battle of Howarts. Lestrade had been Sherlock's Transfiguration teacher in school, of course, he had been a first year professor then.

Then there was Sherlock's brother Mycroft, who had just graduated before Sherlock started. Also a Ravenclaw, and every bit as brilliant as Sherlock – more so in fact – the elder Holmes had immediately begun work for the Ministry. He had never looked back. Everyone in the public thought Mycroft was simply the head of the Defensive Strategies Department; Sherlock knew better. He knew his older brother practically ran the government, and was in fact more powerful than the Minister. It had only taken him sixteen years to claw his way to the position he had now held for three. Sherlock was proud of his brother, even if he never expressed it. It was not required of him. His brother knew, even without speaking of it. It annoyed their mother to no end, but they never discussed it with her. They weren't allowed to; their parents were Muggles, a fact Mycroft had spent a long time trying to cover up.

Even though Harry Potter had won the war, there were still prejudices against Muggle-born wizards. Sherlock had been teased by more than a few Slytherins' because of it. And though, for all his faults, that had been Jim's shining characteristic. Never once had Moriarty belittled Sherlock for being a Muggle-born. Most probably because he himself was a half-blood.

Sherlock made his way up the grand staircase and down a few corridors to his office. He only had a half-hour to get dressed for the opening ceremony. Most teachers came to school already dressed, and students usually changed on the train, but Sherlock did neither. He lived in the muggle world during the summer, and had done so for many years, so he wore muggle clothes. In fact, he liked them more than the robes of the wizarding world. Just one of his many eccentricities. Because he lived amongst Muggles, he was paid in their currency. If he needed something from the wizarding world, he just exchanged the coin for a fair rate at Gringotts.

As Sherlock looked in the mirror, he decided not to change. He looked good in his tailored black suit and purple dress shirt. He grabbed a black cloak to throw over it, and adjusted the draping material to show off his lithe frame. The other teachers would ignore his fashion choice and a few of the first years might find it familiar before coming to think it strange. Sherlock forewent the hat, a gift from Mycroft, and swept out of his room. He hated headgear of any kind and just the fact that he was a wizard couldn't change that. He chose instead to allow his dark chocolate brown curls to flop over his pale forehead.

Sherlock sighed heavily as a chattering group of Gryffindor's walked right past him, cutting him off.

"Hate that myself." Came a light English voice next to Sherlock.

He jumped, startled, and looked down. Standing next to him was his Gryffindor Knight – John Watson. Professor Watson now.

"Yes, well, students." Sherlock shrugged, as his mouth suddenly became dry from nervousness. He had no idea what to say to this man!

John just smiled at Sherlock's apparent lack of social skills, so he extended his hand. "Professor Watson. I'm the new Flying Instructor and Quidditch Mediator." John said cheerily.

Sherlock smiled shyly and shook John's hand. "Professor Holmes. I teach Defense against the Dark Arts, and am Head of Ravenclaw House."

John's eyes widened. "Holmes, Sherlock Holmes?" He asked, nervously beginning to adjust his robes, as the two began the walk down to the great hall.

"Yes." Sherlock answered warily.

"Wow." John spoke in awe. "I read that article about you beating Granger's scores when you graduated. Good on you mate." John smiled widely at him.

John shook his hand again when they got to the teacher's table. "My seat is over there, but I think we'll be seeing plenty of each other since my office is across from yours." He smiled again before walking to his seat.

Sherlock noticed as he walked away that the new professor walked with a terrible limp. He winced whenever he took a step and Sherlock remembered the file. Watson had been held captive for weeks before being rescued by a group of fellow Aurors. The school file went no deeper than that but Sherlock could guess the events were traumatic indeed.

As he sat down, there were a few whispers about him from both students and teachers. They ranged from the rumored skull collection in his office, to his outfit, and most loudly of all, who he had been talking to. It was known among the student body that Professor Holmes had one friend in the school – Professor Lestrade. Though he could sometimes be seen visiting Lestrade's fiancé, Nurse Hooper. When he was truly starved for conversation he would occasionally visit Moriarty. The visits only lasted a few minutes but they could tide Sherlock over for weeks at a time.

He sat patiently through the sorting ceremony, taking note of the four children who were sorted into his house. Watson clapped politely as each child went to their table but grinned a little wider whenever a Gryffindor was announced. _House Pride._ Eventually the sorting was over and McGonogall stood to give her usual start of the year speech. Don't go into the Forbidden Forest, other nighttime rules, and Filch's new banned items. Then she announced that two new faculty were being welcomed this year. The new librarian, who sadly couldn't be here this evening, Mr. Williams, their new Flying Instructor, Professor Watson.

"Professor Watson is to be treated with the upmost care and respect; he is not only a former Auror but he also played professional quidditch. Because of his days as an Auror for the Ministry, Professor Watson was left with a limp. Please be respectful of this when you see him in the halls." McGonogall smiled and gave a short bow.

As she did so, the plates suddenly filled with food and the children began clapping and chattering excitedly as they filled their plates with as much as they could hold. Sherlock smiled thinly as his own plate filed with potatoes and meat, his goblet filled with his favorite tea. The house-elves knew he did not eat much, so they didn't waste food on him. Looking over, he saw Watson picking at his own food. As he stared, Watson's left hand shook with a slight tremor; he curled it, looking embarrassed. He shot a quick glance up to see to make sure no one had seen, and caught Sherlock staring.

John's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked away before turning his gaze back to the younger man. Sherlock stared, unabashedly taking in Professor Watson's sandy blond hair that already at 36 was slightly graying. His brown eyes were piercing even from the distance in which Sherlock perceived them. His face was lined though youthful and Sherlock found himself gazing a little too long at the other man's mouth. Next to him, Lestrade nudged his shoulder, drawing Sherlock's attention away from John's inviting mouth, two table-lengths away.

"What?" Sherlock asked defensively.

"Got eyes for the new teacher?" Greg asked playfully.

Sherlock's cheeks turned salmon pink as he stammered uselessly. "No…no…why would you think that?" He asked.

"Because you aren't interested in anything and you two have been making eye contact for about five minutes." Lestrade pointed out, taking a bite of custard.

Sherlock didn't reply, but took a sip of tea, looking over to where John sat talking to Professor Moran; he smiled at how animatedly John was speaking.

"You're doing it again." Greg said with a smile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and set aside his empty plate. "How's Molly?" He asked, taking another sip of tea.

Greg perked up at the mention of his fiancée. They had been planning their wedding for the last year and a half, and it was taking place after this school year on the Hogwarts grounds.

"Molly's great." Greg said with a loving, lopsided grin. "She's missing the feast though because some kid got too close to the Whomping Willow."

"Oh, who?" Sherlock asked, feigning interest.

Greg cocked a brow before rolling his eyes. "Don't know. It's not my division. That's McGonogall's problem, and Molly's tonight. She said the kid needs to stay overnight and take skele-gro. The tree got a hold of the kid's leg and snapped it." Lestrade shook his head and took a sip of wine. "Anyway, the overnight nurse doesn't come until next week so she has to stay in the ward, so I'll be alone for a week." Lestrade frowned.

Sherlock had paid little attention to the end of Greg's spiel. He was more focused on the earlier words of his friend. "You know, McGonogall is retiring this year. You should put your name in for Headmaster." He suggested seriously.

Lestrade blanched at the thought. "Me, Headmaster?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Why not? You're the most qualified teacher here and the one with the most seniority."

Lestrade chuckled. "You mean I'm the oldest teacher here."

"45 isn't that old Greg." Sherlock insisted.

"It's older than any of you. It's older than Molly."

Sherlock sighed. When Greg had been thinking of proposing to her, he had come to Sherlock for advice. Greg's big problem was their age difference. He did not want to be wasting Molly's life is she could be with a younger man. When he had proposed, he had been 41 and Molly 31. Sherlock had told him to shut up, get out of his room, and go ask Molly about it. Lestrade had made plenty of infuriated noises before leaving Sherlock's room. The next morning at breakfast, Greg and Molly had come down and announced their engagement to the teacher's table. Lestrade had insisted upon hugging Sherlock even though he knew the younger man hated physical contact. Molly had kissed his cheek and left it at that. Sherlock had always had a soft spot for the Hufflepuff lady, and had actually introduced them to one another.

He still remembered Molly nervously coming to his room before their first date – a walk of the school grounds. Sherlock had always counted Molly as his first real friend, and he trusted her utterly because of that. She had been coming to him with problems ever since he first started at Hogwarts. She had sensed that he was lonely and wouldn't leave him alone until he promised to spend time with her. They had a trusting and loving friendship. Molly was actually the first person Sherlock had come out to.

She had simply smiled and said, "I know," and she left it at that. He had ushered her out the door that first night, and though he'd never admit it out loud, he was glad he had. They were good together.

"So what if you're only 45? You'd make a wonderful Headmaster."

Greg bounced the idea around in his head. "You really think so? You don't think I'm too young?"

Sherlock laughed. "No, and you don't have to have the job for life. Just a few years if you don't like it."

Greg chewed his lip in thought. "I don't know Sherlock. I mean, we're a young staff as it is. The people around here have complained to the Ministry about it. They want to know that their kids are getting a good education. They want older staff, which they think can teach better. Having such a young Headmaster…I don't know Sherlock." Lestrade shook his head.

"What, do you want McGonogall to bring in somebody new?"

Lestrade chuckled. "So that's why you want me to apply. You don't want to work for someone new."

Sherlock smiled. "I'd rather work for you." He said sincerely.

Lestrade's retort died on his lips as McGonogall stood and dismissed the students to their rooms. The hall suddenly became a bustle of activity as the students clambered to get to their respective common rooms. Greg stood and leaned down to tell Sherlock that he was going to visit Molly. Sherlock acknowledged that he had heard, and waited patiently for the hall to empty before standing from the teacher's table.

"Seems we had the same idea." Sherlock turned to see Professor Watson standing up with ease. However, when he began walking towards Sherlock, it was almost like his body remembered that he was supposed to have a debilitating limp and he sagged with the weight of it. Sherlock's brow rose. _Interesting,_ he thought. _A psychosomatic limp._

"Do you mind if we walk upstairs together?" Watson asked, stopping next to Sherlock.

"Of course not, your room is right next to mine." Sherlock answered, walking through a large wooden door that led to a large staircase. John sighed as he looked at all the steps.

"Do…do you want help?" Sherlock asked uncertainly.

John screwed up his nose and looked up at the staircase. "Normally, I'd tell you to piss off, but right now some help would be welcome."

Sherlock nodded his assent and took John's arm, helping him onto the first step.

"I noticed the suit. Very nice…very muggle." John commented.

Sherlock was surprised, happily so. Most wizards thought badly of him for his eccentricities, but John sounded intrigued.

"John…can I call you John?" He asked. 

"Of course; and can I…call you by your first name?" John asked awkwardly.

"It's Sherlock." He reminded John.

"Right, sorry. I got caught up talking to Professor Moran and Professor Moriarty and everything else sort of went out the window."

"Jim does that to people – don't worry." Sherlock assured him.

"Thank you Sherlock, for the help."

They were half-way up the staircase now but both gentleman were enjoying the other's company.

"You know, John, this wouldn't be so difficult if you didn't have a psychosomatic limp."

"A what?"

"Your limp – it's all in your head. I'm sure the events that led to it were traumatic indeed, but it's all in your head."

John stopped at the landing and just stared at Sherlock.

"Yes." He said after a minute's silence. "They were harrowing."

He allowed Sherlock to put his hand back on his waist and to continue to help him up the stairs.

"However the limp is real." He insisted.

"No it's not." Sherlock asserted.

"How…?"

"You walk terribly as if the limp were really there, but when you stand you don't ask for a chair as if you've forgotten about it. You were an Auror so you saw a lot of military type action. So you _were_ wounded in action, but not seriously. The limp tells us that the injury occurred in a distressing situation. Your body responded to the light injury by telling your brain that it was more serious than it was, probably translating whatever emotional pain you were experiencing into a physical manifestation to make it easier for you to handle." Sherlock finished proudly.

"Bloody hell that was good." John said in awe. "Thank you."

The pair were silent for a few minutes as they walked steadily, slowly, up a number of staircases. They came to the top of the last staircase and as John lifted his bad leg to reach the landing, he stumbled. Sherlock moved quickly around to catch John before he fell. John's arms wrapped Sherlock's waist and his face fell – against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's back and took on the brunt of John's weight as he pulled the man off the stairs and across the landing to his room door.

"Sorry about that, I wasn't watching my feet." John hurriedly apologized, standing up straight, still in Sherlock's arms.

"That's alright…" Sherlock said, staring down at John.

The man lifted his head up and stopped short as he caught a close up view of Sherlock's eyes. They were a beautiful blue green with a dot of yellow at the center. They looked like the galaxy; they reminded John of when he used to look up at the sky when he was on assignment as an Auror. If he stared long enough, the little white specks even looked like stars. Sherlock fidgeted nervously, wondering what John was looking at.

"Sorry it's just…your eyes." He said apologetically, but still gazing into them.

Before Sherlock could reply however, he had snapped himself out of it and stood up straight, still keeping one hand on Sherlock's waist.

"Is this my room?" John asked, peering around Sherlock.

"Yes." Sherlock answered.

"Oh, well, thank you then." John stepped around him and began fumbling in his robes for the key. He finally produced it with a triumphant "a-ha" and opened his door.

"Thank you again for the help Sherlock." He said, turning around to face him.

When he did, Sherlock decided that he had to act; he could no longer just stand there fidgeting like a fool. Sherlock leaned down so that his face was inches from John's.

"It was my pleasure Professor, to help."

John shivered as the hot breath hit him, smelling delightfully of tea.

"Is this too close?" Sherlock asked uncertainly.

John grinned. "Not close enough," before pulling on the lapels of Sherlock's suit, and claiming those sweet looking lips with his own.

Sherlock gasped in surprise, eyes wide, before he closed them and enjoyed the feeling of the thin lips on his own full ones. John tucked back into the doorway, pulling Sherlock with him. He would hate for some student out of bed to see them together here…passionate, free. It felt like fireworks underneath Sherlock's skin – warmth and heat radiating beautifully, and color behind his eyes. He continued to kiss the new professor, feeling a butterfly sensation that was utterly new to him, a nervousness he had never experienced right in the center of his belly. He couldn't believe he was here in the man's door, kissing the most wonderful pair of lips he had ever had the privilege to kiss.

John was thinking the same. Sherlock's mouth curved under his own in a delightful, new way. A million stars shone beneath his eyes, blinding him to all but the base sensations he wanted to feel with him. He wound his arms around Sherlock's back, pressing him closer, trying to fuse them together. Neither of them wanted the sweet melding of their mouths to end. However, they had to come up for air.

Sherlock grinned like an idiot, his hands still on John's waist.

"Would…would you like to come in?" John asked nervously.

Sherlock bit his lip as he thought it over. He wanted to, more than he thought he would. Sherlock was not normally someone who wanted things, and went after them, but he wanted to be now. However, an oft utilized part of himself, his heart, said that John could be real. He could be real as anyone else if Sherlock didn't screw it up. He wanted to know John, wanted to really see him as a person before doing what John was so bravely suggesting, if he was ever offered the chance again.

Sherlock shook his head. John looked down, crestfallen. He was embarrassed and tired; he didn't quite understand why his invitation had been refused when Sherlock had clearly been enjoying himself.

"Well I better get to bed then." John said, one hand on the door.

"Wait," Sherlock urged. "Go out with me tomorrow night?"

John smiled and looked down nervously at his feet. "OK, yeah."

"Goodnight then, John." Sherlock said, breathlessly hopeful.

"Night Sherlock."

Sherlock walked away to his own room, a considering smile on his face, his brain racing a million miles an hour. This was better than anything Sherlock could've imagined for himself. He only hoped that he didn't screw up, hoped that John didn't mind the violin, or long stretches of silence. And he was damn close to praying that he could John underneath him like that again and again.


End file.
